Editor's note: On Jan. 21, thousands of women around the country, and even abroad, plan to march to show their frustration with the election of Donald Trump as president and their resolve to become more involved in politics. We bring you essays by 12 women from North Texas and beyond, all planning to attend various marches around the country, on their motivations and hopes.

Tracy Everbach

Tracy Everbach

(Michael Clements/Michael Clements/URCM)

The day after the 2016 U.S. presidential election, I felt despondent. This was something new. I've voted in all national elections since 1980, and of course I've sometimes been disappointed at the outcome, but never before had I worried after an election that our country was in imminent danger. A man who had made misogynistic statements part of his campaign, a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, had been elected president of the United States.

As a college professor and former journalist, I train students, mainly women (a majority of journalism students are women), to seek out information and discern the truth. I've also spent more than 18 years conducting academic research on women, race, sexuality and mass media. The short version of my research findings is that mass media are grossly unfair and unequal in representing women, people of color and LGBTQ people. Treatment of women in the workplace hasn't changed much since the 1980s. Politics and the corporate world are still overwhelmingly male-dominated.

On Nov. 8, I foolishly believed America would see its first woman elected president. If women had achieved so much, we already should have met this milestone, right?

As a girl and young woman in the 1960s and 1970s, I watched women protest for women's equality. My generation was led to believe that because of these courageous feminists, women had equal opportunities in society, in the workplace, in the right to control our own bodies, in government and in politics. The reality is that American women have had the right to vote for less than a century; the Equal Pay Act has only been law since 1963; and women have had the legal right to terminate a pregnancy only since 1972. The 1982 failure of the Equal Rights Amendment to pass Congress should have been a clue for us, but as we entered the workforce in the 1980s, my peers and I believed we had the same rights and privileges as men.

Michael Hogue/DMN Staff

It was a rude awakening to realize gender equality was a myth. I witnessed workplace inequity for women first-hand, including sexual harassment, unfair pay and lack of opportunities to advance. For the past two decades as a scholar, I've researched and written about these gender inequities in the hope of making the world a better place for women and men.

On Nov. 9, that miserable day after the election, I saw a Facebook announcement about women rallying to march on Washington for equal rights and inclusivity. Suddenly, I felt hope. Thousands of people felt the same way I did and wanted to demonstrate publicly their commitment to fairness for everyone. To my delight, my spouse, Jake, also a journalism professor, said he would like to participate. Then his mother, Linda, who lives in North Carolina, said she wanted to march, too. Since then, many friends and colleagues have signed on for the D.C. march, as well as sister marches in Austin and other cities around the U.S. and abroad.

Why are we marching? With a new, overwhelmingly male administration and Congress that appear to want to strip away women's rights, a president-elect who has made public statements degrading women, and a society that still aims to silence women, we once again need to draw attention to so-called "women's issues" - which are actually human issues.

Jake, Linda and I are marching to honor all the brave women journalists who have worked so hard and stood up to adversity to expose the truth. From Ida B. Wells' courageous stand against lynching and other assaults on black Americans in the late 19th and early 20th century, to Nellie Bly's undercover reporting at a woman's mental hospital in 1887, to Gwen Ifill's more recent groundbreaking work in political journalism, to Katy Tur's tough questioning of the president-elect in the 2016 election, women have been at the forefront of important journalism, but have received little acclaim. Many have endured death threats, harassment, physical assault and other disparaging treatment because they have dared to practice fundamental rights to free speech and freedom of the press.

Look for us on Jan. 21, carrying the banner dedicated to women journalists, including Wells, Bly, Ifill and Tur. They made America great by honoring the First Amendment and fighting for the betterment of society. Now we want to recognize them.

Tracy Everbach is associate professor in the Mayborn School of Journalism at the University of North Texas. Email: teverbach@gmail.com

Lisa Markley

Lisa Markley

(Ira Hantz)

I don't kumbaya.

I don't sign online petitions.

I don't do crowds.

I don't do buses.

I never march (unless there's a trombone in my hand).

And I do not believe that showing up, en masse, with pink hats and picket signs will change anything.

So, when a friend invited me to join a group of my favorite women (in the freakin' world), on a chartered bus to Austin, my first thoughts were:

"Are there seat belts?"

"What if there is a gunman?"

"Where will I pee?"

Three weeks passed. I watched my friend's posts on Facebook about the seats filling up on the bus, and I felt a deep tug.

I considered the random gift of my birth year (1964). I thought about how I never had to fight for my right to vote. I pondered the fact that birth control was readily (and affordably) available to me, that Civil Rights and Roe Vs. Wade were already a done deal. I recalled that, while not perfect, I had the luxury of believing that women's rights were getting better, and that things would continue to improve.

My friend messaged me last week that she was holding a ticket with my name on it.

Hiding behind my pessimism is not acceptable. I may not believe in the practical efficacy of a "Women's" march, but I have no doubt, that march, we must. So here I am, knitting pink pussyhats and packing for the bus to Austin. I hope there are plenty of Port-O-Potties.

Lisa Markley is a musician and teaching artist in Dallas. Website: lisamarkley.com

Christy Robinson

Christy Robinson

My grandfather was sheriff of Gaines County in West Texas. He died in a car accident in 1953, the summer before my mother's senior year in high school. County commissioners asked my grandmother if she would step in as sheriff and finish her husband's third term. She did, mostly working dispatch and doing bookkeeping after healing from her own injuries sustained in the accident. Her deputies carried out policing functions.

The county's kindness honored my grandfather, and it supported his widow and the last two of their six children. When the term was up, she was asked if she'd like to run for sheriff in her own right. Her answer was, "No. That's man's work."

She was right. Mantie Merritt McReynolds lived in a time when law enforcement, along with many other occupations and opportunities, belonged to men. The limitations of that world shaped not just her perceptions, but everyone's.

I've spent my life being grateful that I live in an era of more evolved, enlightened sensibilities. But then, Donald Trump was elected. That event made me realize that we haven't come nearly as far as I thought. There's still so much work to be done. Woman's work.

I'm marching in Washington, D.C., for my grandmother, who answered a unique, perhaps intimidating call to leadership. It's time for more women to do the same, whether the world is ready for us or not.

My mother, an immigrant and naturalized citizen who had an elementary school education, loved this country and the people of this country. And she believed in standing up not just for her own beliefs, but for people affected by social injustices. She was a Democrat who differed with the party -- and with me -- on a woman's right to choose. She was staunchly pro-life. I am staunchly pro-choice.

Though I didn't recognize it then, she was a woman who, rather than wait for things to change, took action to affect change. When I was growing up in El Paso and busy worrying about school, friends and my future, she was working with local Democrats to add a pro-life plank to the party's platform. At one point, my mother, who learned how to speak and write English during evening classes at a neighborhood school while I played on the monkey bars, was even our precinct chair.

Later, she felt strongly enough about the pro-life movement that she attended peaceful public protests, once, even being arrested in the process. After her kids left home she told us we were always welcome back, but that she would also be offering to house any woman who wanted to keep her baby and needed a place to live. She knew how to put her money where her mouth is.

I could say that I'm going to march on Washington because the president elect's rhetoric has attacked nearly everything I am, and leave it at that: sexual assault survivor; Mexican immigrants' daughter; small business owner who pays her taxes; believer in the free press as a government watchdog; believer in the separation of church and state; there's lots more I could list. But it's also true that my mother taught me to stand up for what is right. Merely dreaming and hoping won't affect the change we need.

Beatriz Terrazas is a photographer and writer in Dallas.

Andrea Buckley

Andrea Buckley

The morning after the election, I woke up with a desire to do something extraordinary. Many of the books I have been reading recently referred to the 1963 March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. I listened to the audio of Martin Luther King's speech and felt inspired. So when I read about a local Women's March in Oklahoma City, I immediately decided to join.

One of my favorite historic photos is a picture of a group of women at the New York City St. Patrick's Day Parade in 1921.They are all dressed in white (the color of suffragists) and are holding a sign that says: "A Fearless Indomitable Womanhood. A Fearless Indomitable Race." I feel connected to this image partly because they marched on my birthday - March 27. I am also drawn their strong gazes and stances. But the photo was taken a year after women won the right to vote. They don't need to march any more. Why are they still protesting?

Leading up the election, when it seemed inevitable that Hillary Clinton would be our next president, I wished the women in the photo could have been here to see this piece of history. After the election, I realized why they were still marching in 1921. They knew their work wasn't done.

For me, participating in my local march is a way to honor the women who went before me. Because a group of women in the 1890s thought Oklahoma City should have a library, I now have a job in 2017. Because Hillary Clinton ran an admirable campaign in 2016, one day we will have a woman President. But, our work is not done.

Andrea Buckley is a library aide in Oklahoma City who grew up in DeSoto. Twitter: @andgela

Bonnie James

Bonnie James with her husband Daniel James

I am going to the Los Angles women's march because last year I watched people all across this country I call home attack and abuse each other. I watched on Facebook as my friends started shaming and insulting each other because others refused to back their candidate of their choice.

I watched as specific groups of people started getting singled out and blamed for the country's problems without any introspection from the accuser of their own part in the problem. I watched as the lack of civility, kindness, grace, and mercy became the new normal of 2016, and I watched as the people already in leadership positions in our communities remained silent against these injustices and abuse.

So I am going to this march to be around like-minded people who watched this with me and are not okay with it. I need to know that I am not alone in my frustration and I am not alone in my willingness to step up and take action against these things.

I have already taken part in a crafting activism movement called the Pussyhat Project. Men and women around the world are making pink hats for marchers to wear as a visual sign of our frustration, concern, and resolution to stand against the evil we saw emerge last year.

Bonnie James is a homemaker in Los Angeles who grew up in Haltom City. Twitter: @ClassicalCat07

Joanna Cattanach

Joanna Cattanach

My plane will land in Washington DC as president elect Donald Trump takes the oath of office. I will have packed with me a Metro Card, directions to a one bedroom rental, I am sharing with a friend, an external battery charger to live stream the protest and a pink pussyhat. (My hat was stitched with love from a woman in Utah whose daughter in Rockwall gave me three for me and my friends.)

A day after the election, a former coworker called me a snowflake (and others like me) in a victory rant on social media. Two days later I got into a verbal altercation with a Trump supporting neighbor who called me an idiot and a moron from his front lawn. He said I threatened him. I was wearing yoga pants. That same day my husband's mosque was protested. That same week a friend was screamed at in a parking lot for not speaking English.

As a Latina and an educator with a Muslim husband and biracial children, how can I not march? I want to stand as witness and say enough. Not on my street. Not in my city. Not in my country. Not in my face. I hope to return feeling less alone, more empowered and ready for resistance the next four years.

Joanna Cattanach is a journalism instructor and activist in Dallas. Twitter: @JoannaCattanach

Katy Evans

Katy Evans

Donald Trump's campaign was one of hate and division and his win was devastating for women. However, it has ignited in us a new desire to come together in our communities and to stand up for one another. When I heard about the Women's March on Washington just days after Trump had won the election, I knew it was going to be something powerful and I knew I had to be part of it. I quickly found an inexpensive flight to Baltimore and free lodging, courtesy of my college friend.

The March is as much for us, the participants, as it is for the incoming administration. It's a reminder to ourselves that we are not alone in our grief or our resolve and it's a reminder to the president-elect that for the next four years, we will not sit down. We will not be quiet. We will continue to fight for our rights and the rights of others, not just from behind a computer or with 140 characters, but on the ground in our communities. I'm proud to be part of it.

Katy Evans is an environmental manager in Dallas. Twitter: @snaveytak

Meera Sundram

(Meera Sundram)

I am a naturalized citizen. I moved here with my family from Bombay, India in 1966. I love this country and everything it stands for. It gave me a life I couldn't have had if my parents had chosen to remain in India. Because of that appreciation I am actively involved in the political process.

The threat to the inalienable rights of those who are not Christian, white, male, and those not privileged in myriad other ways concerns me. While I have disagreed with many administrations, I never felt the need to say that a person elected to the office of POTUS is not my president. Until now.

I cannot claim as my president a person who not only condones but incites violence, bigotry and misogyny, who allows someone to refer to his own daughter as "a piece of ass" on a national radio show, and who uses his power and influence to make light of sexual assault or actually commits sexual assault. I worry that we are flirting with dismantling our First Amendment rights. I have no illusions that marching in the streets wearing a pink pussyhat will change what this administration chooses to do. I choose to march to force the news stations to cover these injustices and keep the conversation on topic rather than the tweet of the day. What makes this country great is "we the people". On January 21, we the people will be marching.

Meera Sundram is a health care consultant in Houston.

Katie Sherrod

Katie Sherrod

We elected a president who has promised to wipe out decades of legal and civil rights gains for racial minorities, women, immigrants, the LGBTQ community, for the disabled -- justice issues I have fought for my entire adult life. This demagogue poses a real danger to our democracy, doubly so because of his narcissistic inability to recognize what he doesn't know.

On January 21, 2017, millions of women across this nation will say as one: not here, not now. I will join them in Austin with some of the people I've done this work for: my daughter, four nieces, and a 3-and-a-half year old grandniece. Recently they've reminded me that Sherrod women don't give up. We resist, speak out, fight back.

My daughter, Daniella Judge, said she is going to the march "because I can't imagine where else I would be on a day when this many women find it this imperative to make our voices and our opinions known. I hope this show of solidarity and resolve will display to our local, state and national legislators that women will not stand still while our rights and freedoms are dismantled. That we refuse to cede the ground our mothers, grandmothers, and other heroes fought for. We cannot and will not go back."

My niece Julianne Sherrod said, "I am bringing my 3-and-a-half year old daughter so she can see that we are fighting for her future. I saw the hate and anger generated by Trump during his rallies, I saw the mob mentality and the willful blindness to his character flaws. I saw his denigration of the most vulnerable in our society. I saw hate groups embrace and celebrate him. I saw the debates where he could barely form a sentence, much less a cohesive policy argument, and I was sure that the American people would want to stand for truth, justice and equality. We did not as a country stand up for those values, but we as individuals must."

My niece Gina Sherrod Hlavaty said, "I will stand at the march as a small person among a great force and be so proud. The shocking results of this presidential election made me realize that if I want change then I will have to be a part of the voice for that change."

Katie Sherrod is a political commentator in Fort Worth. Twitter: @KatieSherrod3

Michelle Rama

Michelle Rama

The other night after dinner, I told my kids that I'm going to the Women's March on Washington.

I will to get out of bed in the middle of what will probably be a freezing cold night here in New Jersey and take a four-hour bus ride with multitudes of like-minded strangers to show we won't let the "mean bully," as my daughter calls him, take away our rights.

When a child has reason to be afraid of the president, of the injustice she expects him to inflict on anyone who stands up to him, it's our responsibility to fearlessly confront that threat to our rights as human beings. We speak up and show that we aren't afraid, and we show up to demonstrate that we won't let anyone's rights be stripped away -- any of them -- without a fight.

The looks on my children's faces when they woke up on Nov. 9, the way they each curled up and cried when they learned that a man who had mocked a disabled man, who had said demeaning things about women, who had promised to make their Muslim friends leave the country, was not disappointment. It was grief and loss. Everything they had been taught about how to treat others, their ideals, had been trampled.

I'm going to bring a sign that says, "The Women Are Watching You, Trump, SCOTUS, Congress," on one side and "Don't Tread on Me," on the other.

Michelle Rama-Poccia is freelance journalist at TheStreet.com, teacher and Realtor in New Jersey. Twitter: @Michelle_rama

Jen Rossa

Jen Rossa

Why do I march? Why wouldn't I march, more like? I have never been political, because I hate American politics. We treat it as a game, a spectator sport, but this is a game in which lives, my life, is at stake. Now, our politics have brought us a president and congress who in large part are in it for themselves, who would take away my rights to make themselves a buck.

I march, peacefully, to let them know that I will not let them. I march because I'm a former journalist, and the freedom and integrity of the press is under threat. I march because I'm a woman, and a president who exemplifies rape culture is not okay. I march because I lived for a time in Russia, and I would not happily see our country follow its oligarchic path. I march because climate change is real. I march because Obamacare helped me transition to freelance. I march for all my friends who are black, Latino, homosexual, Muslim, teachers, scientists, immigrants, or merely blue voters in red communities, and who are terrified.

I will march proudly in D.C. with three friends. Jointly we represent New York, Arkansas, Florida, Serbia, Illinois and Michigan. We are staying at an AirBnb that we were fortunate to book before prices got too high. Two are carpooling, one is flying, and I am taking the cheapo Amtrak. The cost is in the hundreds of dollars for each of us, not cheap, but it is worth it to demonstrate that government should not be by the rich, for the rich, or by the corrupt, for the corrupt, or by bullies, for bullies.